It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. Aided by an individual, who was acquainted with a secret outlet from the tenement, Darrell escaped. Leave the rest to me. Wood, "it may be poisoned. Her lips were dry and cracked.
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